The Secret Art of French-Girl Lingerie

Once upon a long time ago, my best friend met her Parisian future husband at Pastis in New York City. One week later, he presented her with her first gift: a set of Agent Provocateur lingerie, accompanied by a bouquet of roses and a bottle of champagne. The rest of us, while impressed, were left mildly intimidated. Were these truly the standards that French men set for their partners? And did it mean that all French women walked around in coordinated lace lingerie, complete with matching peignoirs and garters?

Years later, while I was studying in Paris, one of the first projects I was assigned was the analysis of the French lingerie market. For days on end, I pored over institutional brands like Chantal Thomass and Simone Perele, growing intrigued by the lavish selection. The vernacular alone was far more daunting than anything I had previously encountered, with terms like “balconnette” and “culottes” making me feel ashamed by my mismatched Hanky Pankys. At Printemps, the century-old grand magasin, a severe-looking older lady (who I was certain could detect said Hanky Pankys via X-ray vision) walked me through brands like La Perla and I.D. Sarrieri, the Rolls-Royce of lingerie. The pieces, even more decadent up close, presented themselves as true works of art, made from the finest Calais lace. And yet I had a hard time associating these seductive concoctions with the sneaker-clad women gliding down the streets of Paris. Didn’t these necessarily complicated underpinnings somehow interfere with the very idea of easy, effortless style that the French were so famous for?

In the months that followed, my own weak lingerie collection began to grow. I developed an affinity for the omnipresent Princesse Tam Tam stores, as well as a few small Parisian brands such as Yasmine Eslami, represented by the ethereal Jeanne Damas. Somehow, she managed to make the skimpy lingerie look downright perfect—never vulgar, with just a hint of sexual innuendo. The more I looked, the more I saw this attitude reflected in most Frenchwomen. While covered up at first glance, they would suddenly surprise you, whether it was with a lace bra peeking from underneath a men’s button-down, a bretelle intermingled with a dress strap, or a black bra worn unapologetically under a white T-shirt. In fact, it often seemed as if the bra were meant to complement the outfit, rather than to be concealed underneath. The effect was never distasteful or provocative (which may also be due in part to modest cup sizes, but that’s neither here not there).

Apparently, there is a term for this type of allure—la séduction voilée, the veiled seduction. A French woman, always the enigma, seduces by revealing just enough: hinting at her secrets and leaving the rest to the viewer’s imagination. What you reveal matters just as much as what you choose not to.

So what exactly are the weapons of said seduction? The answers varied for each girl I spoke to. Some loved the frou-frous of Chantelle and Aubade, others preferred the refined simplicity of Eres and Implicite. Most bought in sets, which they insisted on wearing together. “You never know what might happen,” some told me, as if they really expected to wind up in the arms of a perfect stranger at the end of a regular workday. (The trick to sets, I learned, was buying a bra with three matching pairs of underwear: a string, a bikini, and the ubiquitous culotte.) A salesperson I spoke to told me that the main difference between her French and foreign customers was that the French “know what they want” and stick to the styles that suit them. They shop on sale and update their lingerie each season, a far cry from my own sporadic shopping trips, which usually coincide with the appearance of a potential new boyfriend. In fact, besides the occasional innuendo, nobody really mentioned men. It seemed like French women were keen on buying lingerie primarily to please themselves, rather than anybody else.

So what did the men think of it? Despite being rather clueless on the topic, most confirmed that French women, indeed, had excellent taste in lingerie. One husband mentioned Agent Provocateur. (Aha! They are all the same.) His wife, a free-spirited accessories designer who had admitted to occasionally forgoing bras altogether, looked amused. Did she wear it? “Parfois”—sometimes. It was clear that these were the parfois of her choice.